


Untitled Drabble

by gunslingaaahhh



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Drabble, Ficlet, Gen, Nightmares, dark!fic, references to violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 07:42:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunslingaaahhh/pseuds/gunslingaaahhh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The best thing about going through boxes you havent looked in in over a year? You find fic you'd started but never did anything with, and hand-written! That said, I have no idea if I'll go anywhere with this; I honestly cannot for the life of me remember what story I was going to tell beyond the basic chunk below. I polled on twitter and those of you that responded said you were interested, so there you go.</p>
<p>Also: none of the archive warnings really applied, so I chose not to use them and tagged where appropriate.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Untitled Drabble

**Author's Note:**

> The best thing about going through boxes you havent looked in in over a year? You find fic you'd started but never did anything with, and hand-written! That said, I have no idea if I'll go anywhere with this; I honestly cannot for the life of me remember what story I was going to tell beyond the basic chunk below. I polled on twitter and those of you that responded said you were interested, so there you go.
> 
> Also: none of the archive warnings really applied, so I chose not to use them and tagged where appropriate.

His eyes are dark, almost black -- pupils dilated all the way out. They are also cold, hollow, alien. He is unresponsive as he moves, mindful of his surroundings. For a large man he steps lightly, not making a sound as he moves over the undergrowth.

The enemy -- his target -- never sees him coming. His movements are quick and precise, deadly accurate and thorough. He is no longer moved either way by the sight and scent of blood.

In all honesty, he doesnt feel much of anything. He is numb, detached from the task at hand.

~*~

Steve woke up in a cold sweat for what felt like the hundredth time. It might as well have been the millionth; he'd been having the dreams here and there for years, and increasingly now that he wasn't on missions. He knew from experience that war and excessive violence change people, rearrange things inside. He wanted to think he was well adjusted, that he'd learned to compartmentalize well enough to separate himself from the horrors of war.

When he had the dreams, though -- two or three times a week now -- he wasn't so sure. He'd never tell anyone he dreamed about killing people; Danny would bodily force him into therapy before he'd had a chance blink. He knew it was bad, though. The part that made it almost unbearable was the feeling of _nostalgia_ it invoked. He woke with cold sweats from the guilt, that he _wanted_ to be killing.

That he missed and _yearned_ for the violence.

A ball of something sick and heavy settled into his stomach. If that was really the case, he was more fucked up than anyone could imagine.

 

 

-FIN-


End file.
